


Just Close Your Eyes

by bellamynochillblake (merae2888)



Category: The 100
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, tagging this bellarke because their relationship is referenced throughout the whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merae2888/pseuds/bellamynochillblake
Summary: For Bellamy's birthday up on the ring, Monty gives him Harper for the night.





	Just Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this for the kinkmeme and finally finished it!

Monty’s algae moonshine isn’t good, but that doesn’t stop Bellamy from drinking copious amounts of it. It’s his birthday after all. He’s allowed. He’s owed. 

Everyone else is wasted too. Even Murphy has joined them and so far hasn’t said or done anything to get his ass kicked. They ate nothing and drank and drank and now, Raven and Echo are draped around each other, singing incorrect renditions of Happy Birthday. Murphy is providing the beat, stomping his foot and clapping his hands, Emori perched on his lap. Monty is serving up another batch of moonshine and Harper is tucked under Bellamy’s arm. He can’t remember when she got there, somewhere between the last round of moonshine and the singing. She’s small and warm against his side and Bellamy loves her. He loves all of them. 

Monty comes over, hands Harper a mug that she takes and offers one to Bellamy, who shakes his head. 

“I’m wasted.”

“Good,” Monty says and shoves the mug in his hand. “It’s your birthday. Well, we’re like 97% sure it’s your birthday. You should be drunk. You should be happy. You should be getting laid.”

Bellamy glares at Monty, who has the decency to turn pink, and drains his cup. It burns all the way down and he feels old and a little sad. Everyone else is getting laid. Everyone else is paired off. And it’s nothing, it’s not a big deal. The person he wants isn’t there anyway. 

Harper sits up a little and pats his belly. “Sex is overrated,” she says and then her lips are on his cheek, wet and soft and quick. “I have a real present for you.” 

The next thing he knows, a small book is in his hands. It’s a notebook, or maybe a journal. He flips through the pages and sees that they’ve been washed, the previous words barely visible, the lines almost erased. 

“I found it in one of the cargo holds. I know the words are still visible but once you write over them-”

Her sentence cuts off because Bellamy has wrapped her in his arms. She hugs him back, one arm tight around the small of his back, other around his shoulders, fingers scratching at the curls on the base of his neck. Harper feels good against him, tiny in his arms. 

“I love it. Thank you.” 

She turns her head, ever so slightly, her mouth brushes over his skin when she says, “Happy Birthday, Bell.” 

A moment later, they break apart. Monty is watching them, a calculating look on his face, one Bellamy’s seen when he’s figuring how much algae he needs to grow to keep them all alive for another year. 

Bellamy keeps his arm around Harper, because it feels more awkward to push her away. She settles against him, leans her head on his shoulder and he realizes she must be very drunk too. They’re all very drunk.

“I’m going to bed,” Bellamy says. A few half-hearted disagreements are hurled at him but Bellamy knows them too well now and knows they aren’t really sad. They don’t really care. Tomorrow, they’ll all be together again. And the day after. And the day after that. Today was just another day, with more moonshine.

“You sure?” Harper asks. She’s still snuggled against his side and he tries to remember what she looked like when they landed, if her hair was this blonde, is she was this pretty or if she’s grown into her features. 

She sits back and the light shifts over her face and for a moment, one breathless, impossible moment, Bellamy sees Clarke. The way she used to duck her head, the way her hair would fallover her face, the almost smile. It’s like a lightning strike. Just as short and just as frightening. Then she turns back toward the light and it’s over. Gone quicker than a shooting star. Bellamy lets out a breath. He can hear his heart beat in his ears. 

“It’s still early. We could play cards or something.”

It’s not the first time that Bellamy imagines Harper on Earth, dying in the wake of a death wave, dying alone, Clarke here instead of her, curled up beside him. He’s done it with all of them that are here and hates himself every time. 

He shakes his head, unable to speak. He leans over and kisses Harper on the cheek, close to her mouth. Then he turns to Monty and grabs his face, places one quick wet, smacking kiss on his mouth and stumbles up. He walks past his friends, squeezes Raven’s shoulder, pops Murphy on the back of the head. 

In his room, he strips off his shirt and pants, sits down on the bed in his underwear, cradling his present in his lap. He writes ‘My Birthday’ at the top of the first page. Without thinking about it, he starts writing to Clarke. 

He tells her about his birthday party, about how hard it is to only see the same six people everyday, about how much he loves them. He imagines what it would be like if she were there, he imagines what her life would be like if she were alive, what Earth is like now. He wonders if she’d miss him. He wonders if she can feel him missing her, wherever she is. 

He’s filled seven pages when his bedroom door cracks open. 

Harper peeks her head inside. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Bellamy says. He puts his new journal on the little side metal table as Harper walks in. The door clicks softly shut behind her and she locks it. She walks over to him, stands between his legs. 

“What are doing?”

“Giving you your birthday present.”

“But you already-” His voice falters and fades away as she reaches forward and cradles his cheek. She rubs her thumb over his lips. 

“Bellamy,” she says, her voice quiet, “close your eyes.” 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“I want to.”

“But Monty-”

“Loves you. Like I love you. We talked about it.” She runs her hands through his hair and some tension drains from his shoulders. He drops his head, presses his face into her stomach. “Just close your eyes." 

He does. She doesn’t move away from him as she starts pulling her clothes off. She takes his hand and places it on her bare waist. He’s trembling. It’s been a long, long time since he’s touched someone. 

The second year in space, they all started sleeping together. Raven would join Murphy and Emori in their bed, Echo and Raven started sharing a room. It was a comfort thing, he was sure, everyone just wanting to feel close and loved and safe. 

Echo had kissed him once, invited him to join her and Raven several times, but he’d always refused. Monty tells him he’s punishing himself and that’s definitely part of it. But there’s more to his chosen loneliness. He loves Clarke, he’s in love with Clarke and she’s dead. He tells himself this everyday. Sometimes, he isn’t sure it’s true.

Now he’s touching Harper, her smooth skin warm under his calloused fingers, and he feels somehow better and emptier. She shifts closer and settles herself on his lap. “Pretend I’m someone you love.” 

She lifts his face and kisses his forehead, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose. When she presses her lips to his, he doesn’t resist. He opens his mouth, he licks her lips, he slips his tongue in her mouth and she sucks on it.

It’s how he would kiss Clarke. A switch in his mind flips. He cracks his eyes open, just a sliver, sees moonlit skin and long blonde hair and it’s Clarke and he’s kissing her, finally. 

He runs his hand up her back, wraps his other around her thigh, pulling her closer. Her leg brushes his hardening cock. She breaks the kiss, pulls his shirt off. His eyes are half open, he’s watching her through his lashes, everything hazy. She pushes him back by the shoulder, he catches her smile before she looks down at his pants and starts undoing his belt. 

He wants to say things, there’s a lifetime of words he never got to say to her, but he stays quiet. Whatever spell he’s been pulled under might break the moment one of them speaks. 

He lifts his hips for her. She tugs his pants off. She climbs on top of him and wraps her hand around his cock, stroking lightly. Her mouth is on him a second later, soft and warm and perfect. When he looks down, he can only see her head, blonde hair spilling over his legs. She’s not looking at him on purpose, letting him stay in his fantasy. Another gift. 

She licks him from base to tip, sucks on his head, flicks her tongue, uses her hands on the part that won’t fit in her mouth. He fists his hands in the sheets, overwhelmed from being touched like this after so long. She guides one of his hands to the back of her head and he tangles his fingers in her hair, pushes his dick farther down her throat. She whines and he does it again and again, chasing that little noise until she has to pull off and catch her breath. 

Bellamy pulls her up, probably grabbing her arm too tight, probably being too rough with her, but he can’t help it. He needs her under him, the way he’s always imagined it. 

She sprawls out, like a buffet set up for him. He’s still got his eyes half closed. He runs his hand up her legs, kisses the side of her knee, up her thigh and stomach. Her breasts are soft in his hands, small. Bellamy shuts his eyes again, falls back into his fantasy space. Clarke. He’s with Clarke.

He kisses her again, pushes his tongue against hers. He presses her into the bed and kisses her throat. She moans and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in, encouraging. He uses his teeth, a wild, animalistic part of him wants to taste her blood, swallow it down. He bites her collarbone, shifts down and presses his face into her stomach, nibbles the thin skin covering her hipbones. 

“Can I?” he asks as he pushes her legs open.

“Please,” she says, so low and soft he can barely hear her, can plant the memory of Clarke’s voice over the words. She runs her hands through his hair, tugs gently until he bends his head to her and licks her cunt. 

This is his favorite part. He’s had so many dreams about this, how he’d make Clarke lose her mind with his hands and mouth. He strokes her labia with his tongue drawing more wetness into his mouth and the sweetest little moans from her. She asks for more, begs him to go harder, but he keeps mouthing at her softly, indulging. He presses his thumb to her clit in slow, maddening circles, licking at her languidly, teasing a finger over her slit until she’s bucking her hips up and saying his name, pleading. 

He hears it all in Clarke’s voice. He sucks her clit in his mouth and pushes his middle finger into her, fucks her a few times before adding another. He flicks his tongue fast over her clit, presses down and shakes his head. He pulls his fingers out and dips his tongue inside her, offers her his fingers. She sucks them into her mouth with a whimper. Her whole body tenses up and her back arches off the bed. 

She twists and whimpers into the pillow while she comes. He licks at her until she twitches away from his mouth. He wipes his mouth and beard on the sheet and rubs her back until she regroups. His face is pressed into her thigh. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life.

“Get up here,” she says, in that near silent voice again.

Bellamy crawls up her body, guided by touch, eyes squeezed closed. She pulls him down for a kiss. “You’re a little too good at that.”

He smiles against her mouth. “You taste a little too good.” 

“How do you want to fuck me?”

“Fuck, uh...I don’t-”

“I know.” She shifts her body out from under him. He opens his eyes to find her on her hands and knees, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. He drags his hands down her back and spread her legs open. He rubs his cock against her a few times, finds she’s still wet. He grabs her hips and thrusts into hot, tight perfection. He curls over her and kisses her neck as he starts to move. “I love you,” he whispers, can’t help himself. “I love you so much.” 

This time, she doesn’t say anything, just twists around and kisses him, sloppy and desperate. He wraps his fingers in her hair and pulls and she gasps into his mouth. 

He’s not going to last long. He fucks her hard and fast and finally lets her go so she can bury her face in her arms, moaning with every snap of his hips. It’s a frantic fuck. Bellamy is desperate to come and be alone again. His heart aches while the rest of his body chases that high, moving the way it wants, his mind so detached from the act that when he looks down, he sees Clarke staring up at him, lip trapped between her teeth, blue eyes sparkling. With a groan, he pulls out and finishes on her lower back. She falls to the bed, panting. 

“Don’t move.” He gets a washrag from the bathroom and wets it, cleans his come off her skin. Harper flips onto her back and before he can say or do anything, pulls him down on top of her. 

For several minutes, much longer than he feels good about, he lets her hold him, rub his sweaty back, kiss his temple. Clarke would have done this, he thinks, would have just held him for as long as he needed. And he would have done it for her, held her and rubbed her back and whispered that he loved her until she drifted off to sleep. That familiar pressure builds behind his eyes and he rolls away from Harper before she can see.

“You okay?” she asks in her normal voice. 

He wipes his eyes and looks over his shoulder, smiles at her. “Yeah. Are you?”

She sits up, holding the sheet over her breasts. Her hair is a mess and she looks a little spacey. “I’m good.” She smiles and moves to get out of the bed before pausing. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No. I mean...you can if you’d like but you don’t have to.” 

Then she leans over his shoulder, tilts his face up to hers and kisses him. No games, no pretending, and he lets her. She’s so gentle, the kiss soft and warm, his cheeks cupped in her hands and thumbs tracing the dark circles under his eyes. It’s how she kisses Monty when they’re all around, just genuine affection.

“I love you, Bellamy.” she says when she pulls away. 

He nods. “Love you, too.” 

Suddenly feeling shy, he turns away while she gets dressed.

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, quietly. Harper pauses in opening the door.

His cheeks are burning.

“Anytime, Bell,” she says, even though they both know it’s a lie. This was a one-time thing. Bellamy doesn’t think his heart could take another night like this. 

She leaves. The door clicking closed behind her the loudest thing he’s ever heard. He rolls over and stares at the empty space in the bed beside him for a very long time before he finally falls asleep.


End file.
